Page 11 of Obsessed Heir

Go on the cruise? Out on the open water, isolated and surrounded by potential icebergs and treacherous seas?

My blood is rushing in my ears. Panic seizes my chest as flashes of dark ocean depths ripped from my most haunting nightmares assault my mind. My head screams a resounding no even as my mouth works soundlessly.

“We have highly trained staff members who can attend to your needs during the trip, Mother,” Barron cuts in, his voice icy. “There’s no need to?—”

“Strangers,” Miss Opal shoots back, appalled by the very suggestion. “I can’t possibly have someone I’ve never met before assisting me with private needs.” She gives him a look that clearly states she thinks he’s lost his mind.

“Mother,” he replies, distinctly uncomfortable, “I have people on board who are more than?—”

“Abby.” Miss Opal turns to me with a pleading expression. “Dear, please say you’ll come with me,” she cuts in before he can finish the sentence. “I’m going to need you these next few days.”

How is it she can put me on the spot so effortlessly? I move my lips, but again, I can’t utter a word. I’m reaching, hoping to find an answer, a solution that won’t complicate things even more.

The fact she’s ready to forgo her manners is enough to tell me she’s agitated. Any other time, she would have patiently and politely waited for the opportunity to speak, especially in deferring to her own son.

But she clearly sees this as a battle to be won over Barron and me at all costs—and is prepared to leverage her frail, injured state to its fullest extent. If it wasn’t happening to me, I would probably be impressed by her ingenuity.

Then a snippet of the cruise requirements listed on the website flashes into my panicked thought.

“I don’t have a ticket, Miss Opal,” I blurt out, grasping at the slim possibility of a reprieve. “All of that has to be arranged and paid for well in advance. Those types of travel accommodations can’t just be made last minute without proper documentation and?—”

Miss Opal simply shakes her head, dashing my hopes with a casual wave of her hand.

“Holly assured me that as long as I was at the departure terminal before the ship sailed, I would be able to board without a problem,” she recounts with certainty, her voice taking on a subtly smug tone. “So there is a way for you to come, dear.”

My throat works uselessly as I try to come up with another protest. “But, Miss Opal, I…”

Before I can sort out what to say, she turns her pleading gaze on her son.

“I’m sure Barron can arrange everything for us,” she prompts, with a mother’s pride, knowing her son can accomplish anything.

Barron isn’t going to be pleased. I swallow hard, trying my best not to make eye contact with him. My nerves are stretched taut as it is. I don’t need the additional stress he always brings to the table.

Dr. Stein has the sense to keep his attention on the ground, though the quirk of his lips shows his amusement of her blatantly manipulative tactics.

Barron is silent for a long moment, the tension in the air becoming almost palpable. I can practically feel his eyes boring into the side of my face like a physical force as he weighs his options carefully.

Say no. No. No.

He lets out a breath with resigned annoyance. “Yes, Mother. I’ll make the necessary arrangements,” he states flatly.

To his benefit, it doesn’t seem like the words left a sour taste in his mouth. However, they settle in my stomach like a lead weight. Any hope that he’d inadvertently get me out of this situation has just gone out the door.

The ball’s back in my court.

A heavy lump forms in my throat. In all the years I’ve known Miss Opal, she’s always been a very private person. She’s lived independently, and, until recently, pretty self-sufficiently. She could be feeling vulnerable because she’s in that chair.

The doctor said she should only be off her feet while the swelling goes down. But Miss Opal is operating under the belief she’ll be totally helpless.

I swallow hard then run my tongue across my top lip. Her forehead wrinkles in concern. Does she realize I’m scared, actually terrified of the idea of being trapped on open water?

We didn’t talk about it because I wasn’t going on the trip.

Somehow, I think that if I set foot on a ship, no matter how luxurious, it’s like tying an anchor to each foot. I’ll end up sinking with no way to make it to the surface.

I’m drawn into the nightmare I’ve had since I was a child. Water is coming over my head, and murky darkness surrounds me as I’m dragged down.

Miss Opal tightens her hold on my fingers. The carefully curated mask of refined propriety slips. In that moment, I see the vulnerability of the lonely, older lady I love. Her eyes reflect the need for comfort, along with what may be a sliver of fear.

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